CHRISTY HOLGATE.
“I can hardly believe the man you saw was Christy Holgate,” said Wolf,
as we drove off.
“I could not have been mistaken,” I replied. “I knew Christy very well.
I used to see him almost every day.”
“But where could he have been all this time?”
“If the people at the farm-house are his friends,--as of course they
are,--it was easy enough to conceal him.”
“Now I think of it, I have heard Lewis Holgate say he had an aunt
somewhere near Middleport. Probably this farmer’s wife is Christy’s
sister.”
“And they pretend that he is insane.”
“Well, I don’t know but he is. I often think a man must be crazy to
commit any crime.”
“What are you going to do with him, Wolf?” I asked. “You are all
alone; for I can’t do much to help you.”
“I am going to see if the man is Christy, first,” laughed my companion.
“You may be sure of that.”
“I’m going to have a talk with him, then.”
“You can’t arrest him yourself.”
“I don’t want to arrest him. If he has spent two years on this farm,
confined to his chamber in the attic, I will venture to say he is not
a fit person to send to the state prison. You say he looked thin and
pale?”
“Very.”
“If he has been confined to the house all this time, probably he has
not spent my father’s money.”
“Don’t you suppose his wife knows where he is?”
“Probably she does, and Lewis also.”
“They may have spent the money for him.”
“Lewis has earned good wages ever since his father left, and the two
daughters work in stores. The family never appeared to have much money.
Everybody supposes they live on what they earn. But we can’t tell much
about it.”
After a drive of little more than an hour, we came in sight of the
farm-house. I began to be quite nervous in view of encountering Jed
and the rest of the family; but Wolf was as cool as though he were at
the wheel of the Ucayga. He did not say in what manner he intended to
accomplish his purpose, either in securing Christy or redeeming Tommy
Toppleton from bondage. It was nearly dark when we drove up the yard,
where our line had been formed to put out the fire. I glanced at the
window in the attic which opened from the crazy man’s room. The green
paper curtain before it was suddenly dropped, and I was confident
Christy was still there, though the room could not be in a very good
order, after the action of the fire and water. The long ladder by which
we had passed up the water still rested against the house, as we had
left it.
As soon as we stopped, Jed appeared, coming from the barn with a pail
of milk in each hand. He instantly recognized me, and I thought he did
not look very amiable.
“Don’t say a word about the crazy man,” said Wolf, when I indicated to
him that the man with the milk-pails was the captor of Tommy Toppleton.
“Christy is in his room; for I saw the curtain drop as we drove up,” I
added in a low tone.
“All right.”
“How are you again, Jed?” said I, getting out of the wagon.
“First rate!” replied he rather gruffly.
“What have you done with Tommy Toppleton?”
“I haven’t done anything with him,” replied Jed, setting down his
milk-pails.
“The last I saw of him, he was in your wagon, coming this way.”
“Well, he didn’t come far with me,” answered Jed; but he seemed to be
more embarrassed than the occasion required, if he was telling the
truth. “As soon as he cooled off, I let him go.”
“Where was that?” I inquired, astonished at this information.
“About a mile and a half this side of where you saw us. You see, he
begged my pardon, and promised to settle for what mischief he had done.”
“Did Tommy beg your pardon?”
“Certainly, he did.”
This was the most incredible thing he had yet said.
“Tommy is not in the habit of begging any one’s pardon,” suggested Wolf.
“Well he got scared, you see.”
We did not see it.
“Which way did he go?” I asked.
“He went back towards the camp,” answered Jed.
I was not satisfied with this story. If Tommy had been liberated at
the point indicated, we should certainly have discovered him somewhere
on the road. He would not have taken to the woods, but would have
continued on his way to Priam, after he found that the battalion
had left High Bluff. Besides, it was not reasonable that Tommy had
apologized to his enemy. He had never been known to do such a thing,
and, in the frame of mind in which I had last seen him, he was not
likely to do so.
“We have just come down from Priam, and did not see anything of him,” I
added.
“I don’t know anything about that. I meant to give the little rascal a
sound thrashing, and teach him better manners. I know just how that boy
behaves down to Middleport; how he lords it over man and boy. I used
to think if ever I got hold of him, I’d lick him. Now, he insisted on
scaring my colt, to say nothing of risking my life and Clarissa’s; then
he trod down our spring wheat, and sent his fellows through the garden;
and if ever a man was mad, I was. After you put the fire out, I tried
to think better of him for your sakes. If he hadn’t sauced me again, I
shouldn’t have meddled with him. When he threw rocks at me, I meant to
give him some; but he backed down, and I didn’t do anything to him to
speak of.”
“You wouldn’t have gained anything by thrashing him,” I replied. “His
father would have prosecuted you.”
“I don’t care for that; two can play at that game, as well as one,”
retorted Jed, beginning to be excited.
“Well, if he isn’t here, we may as well drive on,” interposed Wolf,
starting the horse.
Jed picked up his milk-pails, and went into the back room with them.
“But he is here,” said I, getting into the wagon. “I don’t believe a
word of that story.”
“No matter,” added Wolf, coolly, as he drove out of the yard.
I was rather disgusted with my companion, to find that he intended to
give up the chase so easily; but I did him injustice in my thoughts. He
had not even hinted a word about Christy, and I might have known that
he would not depart without seeing the robber. He turned the horse up
the road in the direction of Priam.
“I see what that fellow is made of,” said Wolf, when we were out of the
hearing of the inmates of the house. “He is both ugly and cunning.”
“He is ugly enough; but there are some good things about him. He has
been very obliging to us, at least.”
“Because you were arrayed against Tommy Toppleton,” laughed Wolf.
“He cut down a pine tree for us, which enabled our fellows to reach
High Bluff.”
“So that you could pitch the major out of office,” replied my friend,
as he turned the horse into a by-road leading into the depths of the
woods, about half a mile above the farm-house.
“What are you going to do now, Wolf?” I inquired.
“I am going to attend to the business which brought us here. I don’t
believe Christy stays up in that chamber all the time.”
It was now almost dark, and Wolf fastened the horse to a tree. We were
on the verge of what was called the wild region. Below, the country was
all improved, so that the farm of Jed’s father lay next to the woods.
We sat down on a rock, and waited till it was quite dark, when we
walked down the road towards the house.
“What are you going to do, Wolf?” I asked, nervously, in a whisper.
“I don’t exactly know. Perhaps we shall have to go up that ladder, and
dive into Christy’s room through the window.”
“You can’t do that,” I protested.
“Perhaps not; but we will see how the land lies. I think we had better
get over the fence, and make our way to the rear of the house. There
are lights in the second story window. The people are going to bed, and
everything will be quiet in a few moments.”
We climbed over the fence, and sat down upon a rock, to wait until the
lights were put out in the house, and the occupants had time to fall
asleep.
“Hush! don’t say a word,” said Wolf, grasping my arm.
I neither saw nor heard anything to explain the conduct of my
companion; but, having full confidence in him, I heeded his request.
A moment later I heard the sound of footsteps in the road. I held my
breath with interest and anxiety, awed by the manner of my companion,
rather than by the fact that some one was passing in the road before
me. Looking through the fence, I saw a man. There was just light enough
to enable me to recognize the gray coat which I had seen upon Christy,
as he passed me in the attic the day before. He walked slowly up the
road towards the woods.
“Follow me,” whispered Wolf, as he began to creep along the grass
between the fence and the wheat; for we were in the field where the
battle had been fought the day before.
We walked in Indian style, feeling our way with our feet, like cats
about to pounce upon their prey. We continued in this direction till we
reached the woods, through which we could not pass without making too
much noise. We could not see Christy; but he had passed into the wild
region. We listened, but we could no longer hear the sound of his step.
With the utmost care we climbed over the fence, which was composed of
logs, so that it did not yield much beneath our weight.
“Did you see him?” whispered Wolf.
“I did; and I am sure it was Christy,” I replied.
“I wonder where he is gone,” added Wolf.
The road was up a gentle ascent for some distance, and straight, but we
could not see the man we sought. It was evident that he had turned into
the woods. It was possible that he had taken the road where we had left
our horse, or that the animal would make some noise, so as to excite
his attention as he passed. We crept silently along the road till Wolf
put his hand upon my shoulder and we halted.
“Hark!” whispered he.
I listened. I heard a low, murmuring voice, uttering words in the most
solemn strain. They became louder and more coherent in a moment, so
that we could tell what was said. It was the voice of Christy Holgate.
He was praying.